The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele |
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| XXV. | IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-FIFTH. HERCULES the LION-SLAYER. |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
187
IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-FIFTH. HERCULES the LION-SLAYER.
His Instruments of Labor laid aside,
The hoary Herdsman to the Chief replied:
‘I haste, (nor deem it a reluctant Task)
‘O Stranger, to impart whate'er you ask:
‘For much celestial Hermes I revere,
‘Whose Statues awful in each Road appear.
‘He most of all the heavenly Tribe, they say,
‘Hates those who from the Traveller turn away.
‘These Flocks, with which the Hills—the Vales are stor'd
‘Innumerous, own Augias for their Lord!
‘O'er various Soils they range beyond our View;
‘On Elisus' soft Banks their Path pursue,
‘Or where divine Alpheus' Waters flow;
‘Or where Buprasium's clust'ring Vineyards glow;
‘Or wanton here, amid these Meads of Gold;
‘And every Flock apart enjoys its Fold.
‘Tho' cropp'd by many a Herd that roves around,
‘In fresh Luxuriance smiles their Pasture-ground,
‘Menius' rich Marsh: For here, beneath the Dew,
‘The varied Herbage springs, for ever new.
‘See, to the Right, their Stalls conspicuous gleam,
‘Beyond the winding Current of the Stream,
‘Where grow yon' Clumps of high perennial Plane,
‘And yon' wild Olive spreads, Apollo's Fane:
‘Each Shepherd-Swain, slow-pacing down the Glade,
‘Invokes his first of Gods, and hails the Shade.
The hoary Herdsman to the Chief replied:
‘I haste, (nor deem it a reluctant Task)
‘O Stranger, to impart whate'er you ask:
‘For much celestial Hermes I revere,
‘Whose Statues awful in each Road appear.
‘He most of all the heavenly Tribe, they say,
‘Hates those who from the Traveller turn away.
‘These Flocks, with which the Hills—the Vales are stor'd
‘Innumerous, own Augias for their Lord!
‘O'er various Soils they range beyond our View;
‘On Elisus' soft Banks their Path pursue,
‘Or where divine Alpheus' Waters flow;
‘Or where Buprasium's clust'ring Vineyards glow;
188
‘And every Flock apart enjoys its Fold.
‘Tho' cropp'd by many a Herd that roves around,
‘In fresh Luxuriance smiles their Pasture-ground,
‘Menius' rich Marsh: For here, beneath the Dew,
‘The varied Herbage springs, for ever new.
‘See, to the Right, their Stalls conspicuous gleam,
‘Beyond the winding Current of the Stream,
‘Where grow yon' Clumps of high perennial Plane,
‘And yon' wild Olive spreads, Apollo's Fane:
‘Each Shepherd-Swain, slow-pacing down the Glade,
‘Invokes his first of Gods, and hails the Shade.
‘Next rise our Stalls, whose spacious Rooms contain
‘The Stores our Care hath heap'd, of golden Grain—
‘The Riches that around our Sovereign flow,
‘While thrice plough'd up, the teeming Glebe we sow.
‘They who the Vineyards plant, or prune, or rear,
‘Or tread the Wine-press with laborious Care,
‘Well know the wealthy Monarch's vast Domain;
‘The grass-green Vales, the Harvest-redd'ning Plain;
‘And widely-waving far as yonder Hills
‘Whose fair Tops glitter with refreshing Rills,
‘These shadowy Gardens, where our daily Toil
‘(For such the Life of Swains) prepares the Soil.
‘The Stores our Care hath heap'd, of golden Grain—
‘The Riches that around our Sovereign flow,
‘While thrice plough'd up, the teeming Glebe we sow.
‘They who the Vineyards plant, or prune, or rear,
‘Or tread the Wine-press with laborious Care,
‘Well know the wealthy Monarch's vast Domain;
‘The grass-green Vales, the Harvest-redd'ning Plain;
189
‘Whose fair Tops glitter with refreshing Rills,
‘These shadowy Gardens, where our daily Toil
‘(For such the Life of Swains) prepares the Soil.
‘But tell me, is it Chance or Business leads
‘Thy Footsteps, Stranger, to these happy Meads?
‘Say, do you seek, (nor deem my Service vain)
‘The King, or one of his attendant Train?
‘Trust to my Care: And sure, if right I ween,
‘Your manly Graces, and your portly Mien
‘Shine, with no Semblance of ignoble Birth—
‘For thus the Sons of Gods appear on Earth.’
‘Thy Footsteps, Stranger, to these happy Meads?
‘Say, do you seek, (nor deem my Service vain)
‘The King, or one of his attendant Train?
‘Trust to my Care: And sure, if right I ween,
‘Your manly Graces, and your portly Mien
‘Shine, with no Semblance of ignoble Birth—
‘For thus the Sons of Gods appear on Earth.’
Jove's Son replied: ‘O Friend, I speed my Way
‘To hail the Prince whom Elis' Realms obey!
‘But if, amidst his Citizens, the Cause
‘Of Right engage him to dispense the Laws,
‘Then give me for my Guide the Master-Swain,
‘Whose Counsel best may help me to explain
‘My Wants: For Jove decreed, when Earth began,
‘That Man should ever want the Help of Man.’
‘To hail the Prince whom Elis' Realms obey!
‘But if, amidst his Citizens, the Cause
‘Of Right engage him to dispense the Laws,
‘Then give me for my Guide the Master-Swain,
‘Whose Counsel best may help me to explain
‘My Wants: For Jove decreed, when Earth began,
‘That Man should ever want the Help of Man.’
190
‘Sure, some Immortal's Smile your Worth hath won!
‘(The Herdsman cried) your Work's already done!
‘For hither from the Town Augias came,
‘With Phyleus, his lov'd Son, long mark'd by Fame,
‘But yester Morn—to view, for many a Day,
‘His rural Riches, in their full Display.
‘Thus Kings, who trace their Wealth with watchful Eyes,
‘Flourish, while aggrandiz'd their Houses rise!
‘But let us hasten, and the Sovereign hail—
‘To yonder Stall I'll guide you down the Vale.’
‘(The Herdsman cried) your Work's already done!
‘For hither from the Town Augias came,
‘With Phyleus, his lov'd Son, long mark'd by Fame,
‘But yester Morn—to view, for many a Day,
‘His rural Riches, in their full Display.
‘Thus Kings, who trace their Wealth with watchful Eyes,
‘Flourish, while aggrandiz'd their Houses rise!
‘But let us hasten, and the Sovereign hail—
‘To yonder Stall I'll guide you down the Vale.’
This said, he leads the Way, while Wonder rose,
Full many a Thought revolving as he goes!
For with the Feelings of unusual Awe
The Lion's Spoils, the Club's strong Knots he saw.
Oft, he would ask, whence came this Hero-guest—
Yet Fear, as oft, the rising Words represt;
Obtrusive they might seem, or ill-design'd—
Who knows the Motions of another's Mind?
Full many a Thought revolving as he goes!
For with the Feelings of unusual Awe
The Lion's Spoils, the Club's strong Knots he saw.
Oft, he would ask, whence came this Hero-guest—
Yet Fear, as oft, the rising Words represt;
Obtrusive they might seem, or ill-design'd—
Who knows the Motions of another's Mind?
Whilst yet far off, the Dogs sagacious knew
Their Coming by their Tread and Scent; and flew
From every Part, and great Alcides bay'd;
But round the Shepherd fawn'd, and whining play'd.
With Threats he snatch'd the Stones that loosely lay,
And drove the scattering Mastives far away;
While pleas'd, as silenc'd by his Voice they fled,
To mark their guardian Vigilance, he said:
‘Ye Gods! what useful Animals are these!
‘Heavens! how subservient to the Shepherd's Ease!
‘Had they but quick instinctive Sense to know
‘The different Aspect of a Friend or Foe,
‘No Creature could outvie their honest Worth—
‘But rushing with an ill-tim'd Fury forth
‘How fierce they bay'd!’ He spoke—they disappear'd,
And not the Murmur of a Growl was heard.
Their Coming by their Tread and Scent; and flew
191
But round the Shepherd fawn'd, and whining play'd.
With Threats he snatch'd the Stones that loosely lay,
And drove the scattering Mastives far away;
While pleas'd, as silenc'd by his Voice they fled,
To mark their guardian Vigilance, he said:
‘Ye Gods! what useful Animals are these!
‘Heavens! how subservient to the Shepherd's Ease!
‘Had they but quick instinctive Sense to know
‘The different Aspect of a Friend or Foe,
‘No Creature could outvie their honest Worth—
‘But rushing with an ill-tim'd Fury forth
‘How fierce they bay'd!’ He spoke—they disappear'd,
And not the Murmur of a Growl was heard.
Meantime the Sun his westering Car display'd,
While Hesper glimmer'd thro' the cooling Shade.
And now each Shepherd of the Prince beholds
Returning Flocks, and speeds them to their Folds.
Then numerous Oxen bend their winding Way,
And Herd succeeded Herd, in long Array.
Like Vapors, that, as blustering Winds impell,
Sail o'er the Heavens, and still condensing, swell;
Cloud driv'n on Cloud, in countless Heaps arise,
And with incumbent Blackness blot the Skies;
Thus Herds and Flocks fill'd, thickening, every Road,
And the rich Vallies echoed as they low'd.
Now, crouded every Fold and every Stall,
See Troops of Slaves, with Tasks assign'd to all—
To tame the frisky Cow, thro' shackling Weights,
Or give the fatt'ning Calves their Mother's Teats,
Or bear the Pails, or drive the Bulls apart,
Or press the curdled Cheese with nicer Art.
From Stall to Stall the curious King repairs,
And marks the Product of his rural Cares.
His Eyes o'er all the rich Assemblage rove,
Whilst, near, his Son and great Alcides move.
Here, (tho' his Soul, to no mean Views confin'd,
Scorn'd the weak Wonder of the vulgar Mind)
Amphitryon's Offspring notes, with many a Glance
Admiring, as his eager Steps advance,
Such Flocks, in Crowds around, a countless Host—
Such myriad Droves—a Wealth ten Kings might boast!
But to the Sun his Sire Augias ow'd
A Boon, on common Mortals unbestow'd.
His Herds increasing snuff'd the Zephyr's Breath,
Nor felt the Blasts that blow contagious Death.
His beauteous Cows, with healthful Vigor strung,
Were never known to cast the untimely Young.
Fair female Calves the thriving Mothers rear,
The Kind still fairer, each succeeding Year.
With these, three hundred white-legg'd Bulls were fed,
(Curl'd their smooth Horns)—two hundred, glossy-red;
While, silver as the Swan, in Gambols run
Twelve, chief of all, and sacred to the Sun!
These in the flowery Pastures kept apart,
Rush on the Mountain-Beasts that frequent dart
From their deep Thickets, on the Herd below;
Bellowing glance Death, and gore the shaggy Foe!
While Hesper glimmer'd thro' the cooling Shade.
And now each Shepherd of the Prince beholds
Returning Flocks, and speeds them to their Folds.
Then numerous Oxen bend their winding Way,
And Herd succeeded Herd, in long Array.
192
Sail o'er the Heavens, and still condensing, swell;
Cloud driv'n on Cloud, in countless Heaps arise,
And with incumbent Blackness blot the Skies;
Thus Herds and Flocks fill'd, thickening, every Road,
And the rich Vallies echoed as they low'd.
Now, crouded every Fold and every Stall,
See Troops of Slaves, with Tasks assign'd to all—
To tame the frisky Cow, thro' shackling Weights,
Or give the fatt'ning Calves their Mother's Teats,
Or bear the Pails, or drive the Bulls apart,
Or press the curdled Cheese with nicer Art.
From Stall to Stall the curious King repairs,
And marks the Product of his rural Cares.
His Eyes o'er all the rich Assemblage rove,
Whilst, near, his Son and great Alcides move.
Here, (tho' his Soul, to no mean Views confin'd,
Scorn'd the weak Wonder of the vulgar Mind)
Amphitryon's Offspring notes, with many a Glance
Admiring, as his eager Steps advance,
193
Such myriad Droves—a Wealth ten Kings might boast!
But to the Sun his Sire Augias ow'd
A Boon, on common Mortals unbestow'd.
His Herds increasing snuff'd the Zephyr's Breath,
Nor felt the Blasts that blow contagious Death.
His beauteous Cows, with healthful Vigor strung,
Were never known to cast the untimely Young.
Fair female Calves the thriving Mothers rear,
The Kind still fairer, each succeeding Year.
With these, three hundred white-legg'd Bulls were fed,
(Curl'd their smooth Horns)—two hundred, glossy-red;
While, silver as the Swan, in Gambols run
Twelve, chief of all, and sacred to the Sun!
These in the flowery Pastures kept apart,
Rush on the Mountain-Beasts that frequent dart
From their deep Thickets, on the Herd below;
Bellowing glance Death, and gore the shaggy Foe!
'Midst these, proud Phaeton unrival'd shone,
Whose Prowess and divine Effulgence won,
The Glory of the Pasture-Fields afar,
From Swains, the Title of the Morning Star.
Whose Prowess and divine Effulgence won,
194
From Swains, the Title of the Morning Star.
Soon as around Alcides' Shoulder spread
He saw the Lion's Spoils, his iron Head
He dash'd with rapid Aim—in Fury borne—
But, on the Left, Alcides seiz'd his Horn;
His stubborn Neck dragg'd downwards to the Ground,
And pressing his broad Shoulder, writh'd him round;
Then, straining all the Muscles of his Strength,
Heav'd him aloft in Air, and pois'd him at Arm's Length.
Hush'd in the sudden Stillness of Amaze,
The King, the Prince, the gaping Rustics gaze.
He saw the Lion's Spoils, his iron Head
He dash'd with rapid Aim—in Fury borne—
But, on the Left, Alcides seiz'd his Horn;
His stubborn Neck dragg'd downwards to the Ground,
And pressing his broad Shoulder, writh'd him round;
Then, straining all the Muscles of his Strength,
Heav'd him aloft in Air, and pois'd him at Arm's Length.
Hush'd in the sudden Stillness of Amaze,
The King, the Prince, the gaping Rustics gaze.
And now retreating from the rural Scene
The Prince and Hero tread the twilight Green,
To Elis bent; and quick the Path-way pass
That narrow nigh the Stalls, 'mid waving Grass,
Next led thro' Vineyards, winding down the Glade,
And indistinctly sunk into the Shade.
Then Phyleus, foremost as he trac'd the Grove,
(His Head half-turn'd) addrest the Son of Jove:
‘Your Fame already, 'tis my strong Belief,
‘Hath reach'd my wondering Ears, O stranger Chief!
‘For here, long since an Argive Shepherd drew,
‘With Stories of a Greek he swore were true,
‘The Epean Throng; and said, he saw him slay
‘A Monster-Lion that had prowl'd for Prey
‘'Midst frighted Swains, and long profan'd with Blood
‘The deep Recesses of the Nemean Wood.
‘The Chieftain, whether Argos gave him Birth,
‘Or rocky Tiryns claims the heroic Worth,
‘Or whether proud Mycenæ were the Place,
‘If Memory fail not, was of Perseus' Race.
‘No Greek but you such Actions could atchieve,
‘This tawny Skin inclines me to believe—
‘This Skin, whose awful Honors grace your Side,
‘Speak the bold Deed, and mark the Beast that died.
‘Say then, if you are he, as Stories tell,
‘He, by whose Arm the savage Prowler fell?
‘Say, by what Weapon pierc'd, the Monster bled,
‘And what dire Fate his wandering Footsteps led
‘To Nemea's Grove? In Grecian Forests roar
‘No Natives but the Bear, the tusky Boar,
‘And droving Wolf—Some mock'd the Argive Youth,
‘And scorn'd the amusive Tale, as void of Truth.’
The Prince and Hero tread the twilight Green,
To Elis bent; and quick the Path-way pass
That narrow nigh the Stalls, 'mid waving Grass,
Next led thro' Vineyards, winding down the Glade,
And indistinctly sunk into the Shade.
Then Phyleus, foremost as he trac'd the Grove,
(His Head half-turn'd) addrest the Son of Jove:
195
‘Hath reach'd my wondering Ears, O stranger Chief!
‘For here, long since an Argive Shepherd drew,
‘With Stories of a Greek he swore were true,
‘The Epean Throng; and said, he saw him slay
‘A Monster-Lion that had prowl'd for Prey
‘'Midst frighted Swains, and long profan'd with Blood
‘The deep Recesses of the Nemean Wood.
‘The Chieftain, whether Argos gave him Birth,
‘Or rocky Tiryns claims the heroic Worth,
‘Or whether proud Mycenæ were the Place,
‘If Memory fail not, was of Perseus' Race.
‘No Greek but you such Actions could atchieve,
‘This tawny Skin inclines me to believe—
‘This Skin, whose awful Honors grace your Side,
‘Speak the bold Deed, and mark the Beast that died.
‘Say then, if you are he, as Stories tell,
‘He, by whose Arm the savage Prowler fell?
‘Say, by what Weapon pierc'd, the Monster bled,
‘And what dire Fate his wandering Footsteps led
196
‘No Natives but the Bear, the tusky Boar,
‘And droving Wolf—Some mock'd the Argive Youth,
‘And scorn'd the amusive Tale, as void of Truth.’
He spoke—and now, as broad enough for two,
The social Path, inviting Converse, grew;
Walk'd all attentive by the Hero's Side,
Who thus, to gratify his Wish, replied:
‘The Argive's Story you recount, is true;
‘And hence, great Prince, the just Surmise you drew:
‘Since then you ask, enamour'd of my Fame,
‘How bled the furious Beast, and whence he came;
‘My Tongue shall tell you, in authentic Strain,
‘What other Argives might attempt in vain.
‘Sent by some God, 'tis said, the Monster flew
‘In Vengeance, 'mid the base Phoronean Crew,
‘For Sacrifice unpaid; and rush'd amain
‘One Flood of Carnage, thro' Pisæum's Plain;
‘And o'er the Bembinæan Glades, more fell,
‘Bade all the Deluge of his Fury swell!
‘Eurystheus first enjoin'd me to engage
‘This Beast, but wish'd me slain beneath his Rage.
‘Arm'd with my Bow, my quiver'd Shafts, I went,
‘And grasp'd my Club, on bold Defiance bent—
‘My knotted Club, of strong wild Olive made,
‘That, rugged, its unpolish'd Rind display'd;
‘That with a Wrench from Helicon I tore,
‘Its Roots and all, and thence the Trophy bore.
‘Soon as I reach'd the Wood, I bent my Bow,
‘Firm-strung its painted Curve, and couching low,
‘Notch'd on the Nerve, its Arrow—look'd around,
‘And from my Covert trac'd the Forest-Ground.
‘'Twas now high Noon. No Roar I heard, nor saw
‘One Print that might betray the Prowler's Paw;
‘Or Rustic found, amidst his Pastoral Care,
‘Nor Herdsman, who might shew the Lion's Lair.
‘Nor Herds or Herdsmen ventur'd to the Plain;
‘All, fix'd by Terror, in their Stalls remain.
‘At length, as up the Mountain-Groves I go,
‘Amidst a Thicket, I espy my Foe.
‘Ere Evening, gorg'd with Carnage and with Blood,
‘He sought his Den deep-buried in the Wood.
‘Slaughter's black Dyes—his Face—his Chest distain,
‘And hang, still blacker, from his clotted Mane;
‘While shooting out his Tongue with Foam besmear'd
‘He licks the grisly Gore that steep'd his Beard.
‘'Midst bowering Shrubs I hid me from his View,
‘Then aim'd an Arrow, as he nearer drew,
‘But from his Flank the Shaft rebounding flew.
‘His fiery Eyes he lifted from the Ground,
‘High rais'd his tawny Head, and gaz'd around,
‘And gnash'd his Teeth tremendous—when again,
‘(Vex'd that the first had spent its Force in vain)
‘I launch'd an Arrow at the Monster's Heart;
‘It flew—but left unpierc'd the vital Part:
‘His shaggy Hide repulsive of the Blow,
‘The feather'd Vengeance hiss'd, and fell below.
‘My Bow, once more, with Vehemence I tried—
‘Then first he saw—and rising in the Pride
‘Of lordly Anger, to the Fight impell'd,
‘Scourg'd with his lashing Tail his Sides, and swell'd
‘His brindled Neck, and bent into a Bow
‘His Back, in Act to bound upon his Foe!
‘As when a Wheeler his tough Fig-tree bends,
‘And flexile to a Wheel each Felly tends,
‘Thro' gradual Heat—awhile the Timber stands
‘In Curves, then springs elastic from his Hands;
‘Thus the fell Beast, high bounding from afar,
‘Sprung, with a sudden Impulse, to the War.
‘My Left Hand held my Darts, and round my Breast
‘Spread, thickly-wrought, my strong protecting Vest.
‘My Olive Club I wielded in my Right;
‘And his shagg'd Temples struck, with all my Might:
‘The Olive snapp'd asunder on his Head—
‘Trembling he reel'd—the savage Fierceness fled
‘From his dim'd Eyes; and all contus'd his Brain
‘Seem'd swimming in an Agony of Pain.
‘This—this I mark'd; and ere the Beast respir'd,
‘Flung down my painted Bow; with Triumph fir'd
‘Seiz'd instant his broad Neck; behind him prest
‘From his fell Claws unsheath'd to guard my Breast;
‘And twin'd, quick-mounting on his horrid Back,
‘My Legs in his, to guard from an Attack,
‘My griping Thighs—then heav'd him (as the Breath
‘Lost its last Struggles in the Gasp of Death)
‘Aloft in Air; and hail'd the Savage dead!
‘Hell yawn'd—to Hell his Monster-spirit fled!
‘The Conquest o'er, awhile I vainly tried
‘To strip with Stone and Steel the shaggy Hide;
‘Some God inspir'd me, in the serious Pause
‘Of Thought, and pointed to the Lion's Claws.
‘With these full soon the prostrate Beast I flay'd,
‘And in the shielding Spoils my Limbs array'd.
‘Thus drench'd with Flocks and Herds and Shepherds' Blood,
‘Expir'd the Monster of the Nemean Wood.’
The social Path, inviting Converse, grew;
Walk'd all attentive by the Hero's Side,
Who thus, to gratify his Wish, replied:
‘The Argive's Story you recount, is true;
‘And hence, great Prince, the just Surmise you drew:
‘Since then you ask, enamour'd of my Fame,
‘How bled the furious Beast, and whence he came;
‘My Tongue shall tell you, in authentic Strain,
‘What other Argives might attempt in vain.
‘Sent by some God, 'tis said, the Monster flew
‘In Vengeance, 'mid the base Phoronean Crew,
‘For Sacrifice unpaid; and rush'd amain
‘One Flood of Carnage, thro' Pisæum's Plain;
‘And o'er the Bembinæan Glades, more fell,
‘Bade all the Deluge of his Fury swell!
197
‘This Beast, but wish'd me slain beneath his Rage.
‘Arm'd with my Bow, my quiver'd Shafts, I went,
‘And grasp'd my Club, on bold Defiance bent—
‘My knotted Club, of strong wild Olive made,
‘That, rugged, its unpolish'd Rind display'd;
‘That with a Wrench from Helicon I tore,
‘Its Roots and all, and thence the Trophy bore.
‘Soon as I reach'd the Wood, I bent my Bow,
‘Firm-strung its painted Curve, and couching low,
‘Notch'd on the Nerve, its Arrow—look'd around,
‘And from my Covert trac'd the Forest-Ground.
‘'Twas now high Noon. No Roar I heard, nor saw
‘One Print that might betray the Prowler's Paw;
‘Or Rustic found, amidst his Pastoral Care,
‘Nor Herdsman, who might shew the Lion's Lair.
‘Nor Herds or Herdsmen ventur'd to the Plain;
‘All, fix'd by Terror, in their Stalls remain.
‘At length, as up the Mountain-Groves I go,
‘Amidst a Thicket, I espy my Foe.
198
‘He sought his Den deep-buried in the Wood.
‘Slaughter's black Dyes—his Face—his Chest distain,
‘And hang, still blacker, from his clotted Mane;
‘While shooting out his Tongue with Foam besmear'd
‘He licks the grisly Gore that steep'd his Beard.
‘'Midst bowering Shrubs I hid me from his View,
‘Then aim'd an Arrow, as he nearer drew,
‘But from his Flank the Shaft rebounding flew.
‘His fiery Eyes he lifted from the Ground,
‘High rais'd his tawny Head, and gaz'd around,
‘And gnash'd his Teeth tremendous—when again,
‘(Vex'd that the first had spent its Force in vain)
‘I launch'd an Arrow at the Monster's Heart;
‘It flew—but left unpierc'd the vital Part:
‘His shaggy Hide repulsive of the Blow,
‘The feather'd Vengeance hiss'd, and fell below.
‘My Bow, once more, with Vehemence I tried—
‘Then first he saw—and rising in the Pride
‘Of lordly Anger, to the Fight impell'd,
‘Scourg'd with his lashing Tail his Sides, and swell'd
199
‘His Back, in Act to bound upon his Foe!
‘As when a Wheeler his tough Fig-tree bends,
‘And flexile to a Wheel each Felly tends,
‘Thro' gradual Heat—awhile the Timber stands
‘In Curves, then springs elastic from his Hands;
‘Thus the fell Beast, high bounding from afar,
‘Sprung, with a sudden Impulse, to the War.
‘My Left Hand held my Darts, and round my Breast
‘Spread, thickly-wrought, my strong protecting Vest.
‘My Olive Club I wielded in my Right;
‘And his shagg'd Temples struck, with all my Might:
‘The Olive snapp'd asunder on his Head—
‘Trembling he reel'd—the savage Fierceness fled
‘From his dim'd Eyes; and all contus'd his Brain
‘Seem'd swimming in an Agony of Pain.
‘This—this I mark'd; and ere the Beast respir'd,
‘Flung down my painted Bow; with Triumph fir'd
‘Seiz'd instant his broad Neck; behind him prest
‘From his fell Claws unsheath'd to guard my Breast;
200
‘My Legs in his, to guard from an Attack,
‘My griping Thighs—then heav'd him (as the Breath
‘Lost its last Struggles in the Gasp of Death)
‘Aloft in Air; and hail'd the Savage dead!
‘Hell yawn'd—to Hell his Monster-spirit fled!
‘The Conquest o'er, awhile I vainly tried
‘To strip with Stone and Steel the shaggy Hide;
‘Some God inspir'd me, in the serious Pause
‘Of Thought, and pointed to the Lion's Claws.
‘With these full soon the prostrate Beast I flay'd,
‘And in the shielding Spoils my Limbs array'd.
‘Thus drench'd with Flocks and Herds and Shepherds' Blood,
‘Expir'd the Monster of the Nemean Wood.’
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |